


arm yourself, a storm is coming

by wearethewitches



Series: holly and rose-briar [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Maleficent (Disney Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Canonical Character Death, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dimension Travel, Gen, Hogwarts, Hogwarts First Year, Hogwarts Forbidden Forest, Hufflepuff Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25383520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: “Clever.”“It’s obvious if you think about it,” he whispers, clutching at the stool beneath him.Or, the beginning of the end.
Relationships: Rubeus Hagrid & Harry Potter
Series: holly and rose-briar [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806016
Comments: 18
Kudos: 352





	arm yourself, a storm is coming

_“Ah, there you are, our former Mr Potter.”_

In the shadow of the Sorting Hat’s brim, Briar blinks rapidly, looking out onto the Great Hall of Hogwarts and all its students. Potter? He barely remembers that name – he doesn’t want it. He won’t be made to use it, will he?

 _“Do not worry,”_ says the Sorting Hat, chuckling to itself. _“Your name is Briar. That is all you need to be.”_

“I know,” replies Briar in a hush. Is the Hat speaking aloud, or just in his head? He didn’t hear it earlier, with all the other students and their long names, so he thinks it must just be in his head; that doesn’t mean Briar doesn’t have to be quiet in replying, though.

_“Clever.”_

“It’s obvious if you think about it,” he whispers, clutching at the stool beneath him. “Does that make me one for the blues?”

The Sorting Hat chuckles again. _“Maybe,”_ it teases, before asking, _“a strong contender, definitely. You’ve been taught to appreciate the world around you and use it to your advantage. Oh – you’re a scholar, I see.”_

“Yes,” Briar says, thinking of King John and the library within Ulstead. “What else am I?”

_“You are brave in the face of danger – you stood up to a threat against your mother. That loyalty to the ones you love is admirable, very admirable…so tricky, so tricky… But where to put you? Ravenclaw is certainly for those who value knowledge, though I believe you would suit elsewhere, yes, yes…”_

Where could he go, Briar wonders, did it even matter?

 _“Oh, the politics are horrific,”_ the Hat says, almost idly, _“and you need to belong to a House to attend Hogwarts, unless you become a ward of the Hospital Wing for any sort of long-term malady…you dream of adventuring, only to return home and live happily ever after. Your ambitions aren’t so much as ambitions but plans that change with the tides. Slytherin is not the place for you, no. Not a stroke of cunning within you, either – that’s been stomped out by the kindness that comes with the truth and honesty of your raising.”_

“So,” Briar asks, tentative, “Ravenclaw?”

 _“I’m not done, child,”_ the Sorting Hat chides him. _“You value hard work and effort. Whatever you do, the end result is what you deserve. Not a bad thought, but it needs a bit of work. I think I know where you belong, now, Briar of the Moors. All that courage and will, for the betterment of others alone. Selflessness is something to be prized – something you’ve inherited from your mother. A word to the wise, however.”_

“What?” he mumbles, on the edge of his seat.

 _“Selflessness to the point of self-flagellation does more harm than good. Be kinder to yourself,”_ intones the Hat, before he wriggles on Briar’s head, his voice becoming louder and more _solid._ He’s speaking aloud, Briar realises. “Better be…HUFFLEPUFF!”

The Hat is removed from his head and the table in yellow and black cheers loudly. Briar feels his cheeks heat up, before he slips off the stool and rushes over, joining them as Professor McGonagall puts the Hat away – Briar had been the last student to be Sorted, after all.

As Briar sits with the rest of Hufflepuff, the Headmaster stands, a tentative smile pulling at his face as he welcomes them all to Hogwarts. It is a short interlude – for next comes a feast that Briar knows only Ulstead could ever attempt to top.

“Magnificent,” he mumbles, reaching for the nearest unfamiliar dish, which turns out to be a lamb stew covered in a crisp potato mulch. Halfway through his first mouthful, however, the girl to his left asks him a question.

“Are you Harry Potter?”

Briar falters and in moments, he realises that over a dozen people are staring at him and more are turning their heads as the seconds pass. Briar nearly drops his fork, he hesitates so long.

“…my- my name is Briar. I was adopted,” he answers, stilted. Chatter breaks out in an instant, a loud buzz filling the hall. He hears his former name over and over and it makes Briar _angry._ His fist clenches around his cutlery and he raises his voice just like his father does, getting their attention. “My _name_ is Briar of the Moors and you will _not_ call me anything else!” He glares at the nearest lot of them, daring them to question him further.

Unluckily for Briar, one of his newly-Sorted housemates becomes riled at his assertion, speaking obnoxiously. “But you _are_ Harry Potter. That’s your real name!”

“My _real name,_ ” Briar stresses, “is _Briar._ My mother calls me Briar. My father calls me Briar. My sister and her husband call me _Briar._ The denizens of the Moors, the people of Ulstead and Aurora’s subjects in Perceforest _call me Briar!_ Because _it’s my name._ ”

“Your parents are dead, though,” says his right-side neighbour, a frowning girl with blonde hair in braids. Briar would compare her to Aurora, if not for her rounded face and what she just said. He thinks her name is Hannah – a point proven when _her_ neighbour elbows her roughly, making her exclaim “Ow!” in pain.

“He’s adopted, Hannah! That means he’s got other parents, now!” The girl, a red-head with a fierce scowl aimed at her friend, huffs angrily, stabbing at her greens. “Like how I’ve got just my auntie.”

Immediately, Hannah’s frown crumbles. “Oh, I’m sorry, Susan!”

“It’s fine…” Susan mutters, clearly unhappy. Briar swallows, wondering why everyone is so interested in his other name. Susan glances his way and by chance, they meet eyes through Hannah’s space. “What did you mean, when you said ‘subjects’?”

“Aurora is-” Briar stops, stalling. He can’t exactly say that Aurora’s a queen, can he? Fidgeting, he coughs and says, “She’s in charge of people. They do as she says.”

“Is she a Lady of a House?” asks Susan. “My auntie is Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement.”

Briar takes a long moment to understand that. When he first received his letter via the house-elf, Laila, it had been quite the undertaking to fully realise the concept of a magical world, hidden from those who could not wield it. The Moors, despite the previously poor relations with outside kingdoms, are far from secret like the Wizarding World.

Indeed, it had taken Laila and Maleficent working together on a fairy ring that would bring them into a dark magical woodland outside of Hogwarts, before anyone truly believed it. His mother had journeyed to the castle as Briar’s guardian to speak with the professors, while Briar and Diaval in his Man-form traipsed through the forest. It was an informative walk – especially once they met with the centaurs.

“That makes her a part of this world’s government, yes?” Briar queries, getting a nod from Susan and several others around them, though a few like Briar seem clueless. “Um, Aurora leads her people. Peoples. She’s in charge – though our mother is the Protector of the Moors, so sometimes, she’s the one making the decisions. I think.”

Susan eats some of her broccoli, chewing and swallowing before saying, “That wasn’t really an answer, but alright. Did you grow up in the magical world?”

“Not _this_ one,” replies Briar, more confident in this area. He dips his hand inside his inner pocket, bringing out Sunny. “I grew up in another magical realm, with different creatures and beings. This is Sunny – they’re a daisy-fairy.”

Sunny, blinking awake, looks around curiously – their alarm is clear, however, at all the attention. They look back at Briar with a mortified expression.

“Sorry, Sunny,” he says, before moving to protect them from Hannah’s wandering hand. “Hey!” he exclaims, glaring, “Don’t touch! How would you like to be prodded?”

“Is that a real creature?” asks the other boy absurdly, sniffing suspiciously. “It looks like an enchanted flower.”

“They’re a daisy-fairy,” Briar repeats, before Sunny walks across his limbs to the safety of his inner pocket; Briar can tell that Sunny doesn’t like the atmosphere of the hall. Murmuring, “Sorry,” he helps them back inside and diving back into his dinner.

A few more curious questions are flung about, some directed at Briar and others at his new housemates. He learns that the stuffy boy is called Justin Finch-Fletchley, who, surprisingly, grew up in the non-magical world – or ‘muggle’ world, as Briar hears it being called. Dubious at the term, used to calling magical folk by their species or just ‘fair folk’ and simply calling Humans… _Humans,_ he decides to avoid using it where possible.

His new peers, including Susan, Hannah, Justin and Briar himself, count to nine. There’s Ernie Macmillan, a shy, wide-eyed boy who after some prodding, becomes a rather lively, exuberant child; then there’s Wayne Hopkins, a ‘pureblood’ who looks at Briar oddly, despite his own ridiculous-looking orange headband holding his rampant corkscrew curls back; Megan Jones, who speaks in a thick brogue that reminds Briar of home; and finally Eloise Midgen, who covers up her hair with a pale grey scarf and has a drawing of a ladybug on the back of her hand.

Seeing Briar looking at her ladybug, Eloise mumbles, “It’s for my grandma. She has one, too.”

“What does it do?” Briar asks her.

Eloise flushes, cheeks glowing pink before she looks away, stuffing her mouth with a spoon of ice-cream – a rather sugary, cold dessert which Briar has a feeling his mother would find secretly addictive herself, if she ever tried it. Certainly, it would make Aurora even more excitable than usual.

Hannah beside him, now a little more friendly than before, says loudly, “It’s a Warm Bug! Eloise just has to tap it and it’ll run circles around her hand – and her grandma’s, too! If her grandma sees it, she has to tap it and it’ll stop moving and heat on the spot. I’ve got one with my daddy, see!” Hannah pushes back her sleeve, showing a giant, brilliant caterpillar in the brightest pink Briar has ever seen on a bug. Hannah taps it three times quickly and then, as Briar watches, the caterpillar starts to wiggle, creeping along her arm in squiggly lines.

“And when your dad sees it-” Briar starts, only for the caterpillar to slow to a halt, giving off a warm buzz of magic that Briar can _feel_ , warm like home. In that moment, Briar longs for the Moors, the unfamiliar castle walls pressing in around him. Lip twitching, Briar watches as Hannah smiles at her little drawing, babbling on about her dad and his job as a conductor for Ley Line Transport, a magical train like the Hogwarts Express that follows the country’s ley lines.

But eventually, the feast ends and the headmaster – _“Professor Dumbledore,”_ names an older student – again welcomes them all to Hogwarts, giving out notices and reminders for the year.

“First years,” he says, “should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils – and a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” The wry tilt to his lips cannot be hidden, even under that long beard of his. Briar, nonplussed at the idea of the magical woodland being forbidden, nonetheless agrees to the headmaster’s ruling – except for when he wants to take a trip home or visit the centaurs, of course.

“I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term-”

Briar asks Susan in a hush, “What’s quidditch?”

“Ball-sport on flying broomsticks,” she replies quickly.

“-and anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally,” Professor Dumbledore says, a sombre note entering his voice, “I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

“I beg your pardon?” Briar blurts out loudly in alarm, amidst the few laughs and murmurs throughout the hall. With how close he is to the staff table, he gains a few head-turns, including from a dark-haired man who looks uncomfortably like his father; Briar hopes he has no accidents calling the man by his correct name.

“The third-floor corridor on the right-hand side of the castle is out of bounds,” Professor Dumbledore repeats, before smiling. “And now, before we go to bed, the school song!”

What follows is a travesty of song.

Once the headmaster dismisses them, Briar and the rest of the first years are gathered in an orderly line and led from one end of the hall to the other by two fifth years. The introduce themselves as ‘prefects’, guides of sorts and dedicated guardians of the first-years and their behaviour.

“We’ll talk more down in the common room,” says the girl-prefect, a tall witch with a gleaming yellow badge on her collar with a capital _P_ in black. Briar finds himself unusually star-struck by her appearance, with dark skin like his own and Eloise’s and a gleaming smile behind painted pink lips. “My name is Caitlin Selwyn and this is my other half, Rory Brians.”

Tucking a long silky strand of hair behind her ear, Caitlin gestures to her short counterpart – really, _really_ short counterpart. Briar thinks that Rory Brians would have been comfortable amongst the fair folk at his height, head barely reaching most of the first years’ waists. Gesturing out with an as-equally short arm, Rory says, “I’m short, I’m aware. I’m also better at magic than most of my year. Onwards with you all, chop-chop!”

With Rory at the front and Caitlin at the back, they make their way towards Hufflepuff common room, a den-like room with half-moon windows looking out onto a grassy hill.

“Students can’t see the windows from the other side,” says Rory, pointing them out, “but they’re a cool way to sneak out on weekends. One-way, unfortunately, unless you’ve got someone watching to let you back in and they’re locked during the week, to discourage escapees trying to skive class.”

“We recommend using the front door, normally,” Caitlin stage-whispers, winking at them. Laughter shared throughout the group, Briar thinks he could settle in here. But then they’re brought to the dorms – the _shared_ dorms.

Briar is used to having his own rooms. He has a hollow to himself in Aurora’s treehouse and he stays there alone, with the exception of his adoptive parents. In Ulstead, he has his own guest apartment and again, the only people welcome around him when he sleeps are his parents; even Aurora doesn’t get a pass there.

It seems a similar feeling is shared amongst the other boys he’ll be sharing with, Justin pretty riled at the concept while Ernie looks outright horrified.

“This is the next seven years of your life,” Rory chimes in cheerily, taking perverse delight at their reactions. “The arguments will come, don’t worry – just make sure you don’t annoy each other enough that magic gets involved. Undoing jinxes on your bed is hard work, alone.”

“There are no single rooms?” Wayne asks him.

“No.”

“Great,” Briar mutters to himself, before finding his trunk of belongings, already somewhat battered. The Moorfolk had taken it upon themselves to investigate every last piece of equipment the teaching staff had supplied him and Briar is very aware of the possibility that another fairy snuck in while he was repacking.

 _…if there is any, they’re probably hungry,_ he thinks, barely listening as Rory says his goodbyes and reminds them to be dressed and ready by eight. Briar has no idea what he means by ‘eight’ – something to ask his new dormmates. Opening his trunk, Briar is unsurprised at the sight of a wallerbog in his cauldron, if still piqued.

Sighing, Briar takes Sunny out of his pocket and places his friend in the cauldron with the creature, Sunny wordlessly sighing too. Feeling a presence at his back, Briar glances back to see Ernie staring, wide-eyed.

“Is that your pet?”

“He’s a stowaway,” corrects Briar, taking the cauldron out and shifting his trunk, so he can set the cauldron at the end of his bed, but out of the way in case he trips. What should he do? The wallerbog can’t stay _here,_ that’s for sure. “I’ll have to take a trip home to put him back.”

“But you just got here! Can’t your parents come get him?” Ernie asks, Justin craning his neck on the bed left of Briar’s to see the problem creature. “He looks cute – why not just keep him with you?”

“Because he does not belong here,” Briar answers, taking out some clothes to wear to bed. Dropping his pointed hat on top of his belongings, he changes out of his robes, as well as the shirt and leggings he wore beneath. He pauses between changing clothes at Ernie’s stillness, seeing his eyes locked on the wallerbog.

Suspicious, Briar finishes changing quickly and then moves his pointed hat on top of the cauldron, blocking Ernie’s line of sight. “Leave him be,” he says warningly, the blonde boy rushing to his own bed a moment later, practically shouting his apology.

Watching the torches dim to nothing as Wayne shuts his bedcurtains, Briar deduces that magic is involved and happily remands himself to bed, thinking, _I’ll put the wallerbog back home tomorrow before classes._

And the next day, he does – waking at sunrise and leaving his dormmates to sleep as he carries the wallerbog out of Hufflepuff common room. The stone floors are cold beneath his feet and for a moment, he regrets not putting on his shoes, but Briar pushes onwards.

“Time to get you home.”

* * *

Rubeus Hagrid is not often greeted by students before breakfast. Frankly, he expects the kids to still be asleep in their nice warm beds, moseying down to the hall for toast and all the assortments half-asleep closer to class-time. So, Hagrid is somewhat slow to react when a first-year says _hello_ , getting distracted by the wriggling beastie under his arm.

“…morning,” he shifts from foot to foot, squinting. “What’s that you got there?”

“A wallerbog,” says the boy. “He snuck into my things. I’m taking him home, before his friends begin to miss him.”

“A wallerbog, huh? Never heard of a wallerbog – and hey, what’s that?” Hagrid asks, spying a living flower of sorts. “Looks like a daisy!”

“Sunny is a daisy-fairy,” the boy describes dutifully, nearly losing his grip over the wallerbog under his arm. “Oi, stay still, you! You’re going to be in big trouble once Aurora hears you’re missing!” The wallerbog freezes, then goes lax under his elbow, the boy shifting his grip before looking to the forest.

“…wait a mo’,” Hagrid then gets a grip on reality, halting. “Who are you? You ain’t be going into the Forbidden Forest, are you? Students aren’t allowed in there!”

“I know, but I need to use the fairy-ring,” says the boy, tilting his head and back slightly to bow in Hagrid’s direction. “Briar of the Moors. I used your home as a landmark, good sir – I know where I’m going. I’ve gotten much better at finding my way through forests, recently!”

“No, no,” Hagrid denies, though he remembers the boy’s mother – a winged woman with horns like no others. _Feisty,_ he recalls in suspicion, _and came through a fairy-ring near the centaur’s territory._ “You’re not going in there – not without me.”

“Oh,” the boy, Briar, hums, nodding in acquiescence. “Let’s go, then. It’s not that far.”

Hagrid _harrumphs,_ thinking that the trip there and back will be long enough that the little wizard’s disappearance will be noticed. “Wait a mo’ – got to send an owl telling your Head of House where you are,” he says, waiting patiently for a name; Briar isn’t exactly wearing his robes.

“…uh!” The boy seems to realise Hagrid’s waiting for an answer. “I’m a- uh, Hufflepuff! First-year.”

“Got that,” Hagrid chuckles, returning to his hut briefly, searching out a quill and a scrap of parchment. _Pomona won’t mind,_ he thinks fondly. She used to sneak into the forest all the time as a teenager, he remembers. He uses some sand to dry the ink before reading it over, checking for mistakes.

_Professor Sprout_

_Got your new first year, Briar, taking some magical creatures home through his fairy-ring. Seems they’ve gone exploring without permission. Will make sure he’s back before breakfast stops serving._

_Hagrid_

“There we go,” he murmurs, before exiting the hut. Using a little whistle of his, he calls an owl from the forest, tying it to its leg. “You take that to Professor Sprout, there’s a beauty.”

The owl – a native magical type, unique to the Hogwarts Forest – hoots softly, then flies off, winging towards the castle. Briar, when Hagrid looks back, seems intrigued by the disappearing bird.

“You use birds to carry messages?”

“Aye,” Hagrid replies, before making the slow trek into the forest, making sure to keep pace with Briar. However, Hagrid is genuinely surprised by the boy’s speed – seemingly trying to match Hagrid’s own length of leg. Happy at the sight, Hagrid speeds up to a more leisurely stroll, keeping an eye on Briar and his wallerbog – and his daisy-fairy – as he jogs through the trees.

Briar seems like a polite enough child. With dark skin and even darker coal-coloured hair, he reminds Hagrid of someone. It isn’t until he catches sight of Briar’s bright green eyes that it clicks, gaze travelling to his forehead, the famous lightning-bolt scar hidden behind a carefully styled fringe. Hagrid remembers that night with a cold clarity, realising just who exactly he’s escorting through the Forbidden Forest.

 _Harry,_ he thinks, _oh, child!_

He says nothing, but either way, Hagrid’s lip trembles, tears pricking his eyes. Harry Potter…he’d been waiting ten years to see this boy, since the day he dropped him off to the muggles. Clearly, things had changed – that new mother of his definitely counts!

Rubbing at his eyes, Hagrid hears the boy ask cautiously and without judgement, bless him, “Mister Giant, what’s your name?”

“Half-giant,” Hagrid corrects in something of a sob, stopping still. Unable to contain his tears, he brings his handkerchief out, dabbing his face of tears. “Sorry, Briar. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. M’names Hagrid, Rubeus Hagrid. I’m the Keeper of the Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts.”

“We’ve met?” Briar asks, the two of them still walking through the forest, light filtering down through the treetops. _Beautiful morning,_ Hagrid thinks, nodding to Briar’s question. “When did we meet, Mister Hagrid?”

“When you was a baby, Mister Briar. An’ it’s just Hagrid.”

“Then I’m just Briar!” He smiles, the wallerbog under his arm peering up at Hagrid with wide, bulbous eyes. An adorable little creature, though probably a little tame for Hagrid’s standards – he likes the ones that have as much strength as he does. The wallerbog seems perfect for Briar, however.

“Well, _just Briar,”_ Hagrid teases, tucking away his handkerchief, “it’s lovely to see you grown and happy.”

A moment passes, before Briar asks, “Was I not, last time?”

“…no, though you was mostly sleeping, bless you,” Hagrid replies. His jovial mood fades again, but this time, there’s a steadiness to his core as he speaks. “The night Lily and James Potter died, I was the one to take you from the wreckage of your home.”

“Wreckage…”

“Aye,” Hagrid swallows, looking everywhere but Briar. “The night You-Know-Who came and attacked the Potter’s…when he blew up, the whole upstairs corner of the house went with it. I could see your little bed from the street. Sirius Black was there first, mind, but he gave me you to take to safety – to Hogwarts! The Headmaster was the one to find your family and I looked after you that day, until we could bring you to them. Left you there with a letter, ‘splaining everything.”

“Oh,” says Briar, voice faint. For a long time, they walk in quiet, until finally, Briar says, “They weren’t very nice, Mr Hagrid. The Dursley’s.”

“Dursley,” Hagrid mutters, remembering the name. “Not nice?”

“No. Not good people.” Briar glances his way, face twisted into an unreadable expression. “I was adopted when I was five. I didn’t know how my parents died. What happened?”

Stumbling over his own boots, Hagrid pales beneath his beard. “Oh dear, I’m sorry, Briar – I didn’t know!”

“I think- I think the Headmaster told my mum,” Briar says, turning his little head away. “She said a lot of people knew about it, but asked if I wanted to, as well. I said no.”

“Briar,” Hagrid says, serious, “She should have told you. You’re famous in this world.”

“Because my parents died?”

“No,” he shakes his head, stopping them both and putting his hand on Briar’s shoulder. Hagrid makes the boy look him in the eye as he says, with all the happiness in his heart, “Because you _lived,_ Harry.”

But Briar swallows and says, “Living is hard. I didn’t know and…and now I do. But, but how- how did Lily and James-” and he says their names like he hasn’t ever said them before, breaking Hagrid’s heart “-how did my parents _die_ , Hagrid? Really?”

 _His mum knows,_ Hagrid thinks, finally knowing where they’re headed – where the fairy-ring will take them. He wants to see the Moors, he knows he does, but this conversation is more important than any land or creature he could ever see; and in the Moors, they can find Briar’s parents.

“Let’s speak with your mum and da, Briar. I think you’ll need them, when I answer that question.”

So, they walk.


End file.
